


Living Debts

by SapphireQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireQuill/pseuds/SapphireQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected conversation with Draco changes Harry’s life in ways he couldn’t have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Debts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashindk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashindk/gifts).



> **Warnings:** minor character deaths  
>  **Author's Notes:** Profound thanks to Beta and Mods for their invaluable aid and infinite patience and to ashindk for lovely prompts!

The hospital wing was too silent, too still. The room’s only other occupant was lying in the bed closest to the window, and the pale light of the moon made Draco Malfoy appear to be made of marble, even more than he usually did. Realizing there was another possibility, Harry hurried across the room and stopped abruptly next to the bed. He pulled off his invisibility cloak and watched intently for several long moments, to be sure he hadn’t imagined the rise and fall of the bandaged chest, but it continued, shallow but steady. 

Overwhelmed with relief, Harry exhaled harshly and discovered that his legs were no longer capable of holding him upright. He collapsed into the chair conveniently located next to the bed and didn’t notice when his cloak fell to the floor. 

“Thank you,” he murmured to no one and everyone. “I thought you were dead.” He set his elbows on his knees and scrubbed at his face with his hands as though that could wake him from his nightmare. Because even if Draco weren’t dead, he was unconscious in the hospital wing, bandaged, and so pale and still that he _could_ have been dead. 

Because of Harry. 

“I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t— It wasn’t—I didn’t want—” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He stopped when he felt a hand on his wrist. 

“You’re lying.” 

* * *

Whatever Madam Pomfrey had given Draco for the pain was woefully insufficient, and sleep was impossible. That he was awake, however, allowed him to hear the quiet catch of the door to the hospital wing open and close. He closed his eyes and stilled, listening to the footsteps approaching, too quiet and furtive to be any of the adults who had reason to enter. He considered calling out a greeting, but the likeliest visitors were his friends, and he had no interest in submitting to an interrogation. If it were someone else, he wasn’t strong enough to hold his own in a verbal confrontation, and if the intruder intended him physical harm…. In all honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to defend himself. 

He tensed when the footsteps increased in speed, then forced himself to keep his breathing even while he waited for a hint as to the identity of the person standing next to him. 

_It’s another student_ , he thought, listening to the shallow, rapid breaths that were too close to be someone even as tall as he himself was. There was a deep sigh that told him little – though he hoped it was an expression of concern – then a soft thump as whoever it was sat in the chair with as little grace as Greg or Vince would have, though it wasn’t heavy enough to be either of them. 

His visitor spoke, and Draco nearly sat up in shock. He hadn’t expected it to be Harry Potter. 

His incredulity grew as the other boy babbled, and his vow to keep silent was broken when Potter claimed he hadn’t meant to put Draco in the hospital wing. He reached out and caught the wrist. “You’re lying.” Draco spoke confidently because the alternative was too horrible to contemplate. 

Potter started and nearly pulled away, but Draco refused to let go. 

“No, I’m not. You weren’t supposed to be in the hospital wing.” 

Draco pulled his own hand back as though the words had burned him physically. Cast competently and uncountered, Sectumsempra only had two possible outcomes: severe injury or…. “You wanted me dead?” The biggest surprise shouldn’t have been his own shock. 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, and Draco thought he was sincere, “I didn’t know what the spell would do, I swear.” 

Draco considered the implications of that and swallowed. “What do you mean you didn’t know?” 

Potter shifted awkwardly. “I read the spell in a book; there was a note that said it was ‘for enemies’, but that’s all. I wouldn’t have used it if I had known… what it would do.” 

_A class one Dark Arts spell that he had never performed and didn’t even know what it did._ Draco thought of the hours and hours he had spent being drilled by his father, finding even class three offensive spells nearly impossible – and he was supposed to be the one saturated in the Dark Arts. 

According to Professor Snape, Sectumsempra wasn’t restricted only because the Ministry didn’t have enough information about the specifics of casting to legally define it. They’d seen the effects of the spell, of course, usually on corpses, but knowledge of the casting was – had been – restricted to Death Eaters. It made Draco curious to know where Potter had found it, but asking would send exactly the wrong message, so he wouldn’t, regardless of how curious he was. 

“You believe me, don’t you?” Potter leaned forward, his eyes wide, pleading and earnest. Draco couldn’t bring himself to speak, but he nodded, and Potter relaxed back into the chair. 

They sat quietly for a while, cocooned in shadows. Draco was trying to think of an innocuous topic of conversation before the silence became awkward and Potter decided to leave when the moonlight caught… something on Potter’s hand. It was too meandering for a simple scratch, too old to be an injury from their fight, which left…. “Do you have a tattoo?” 

“What?” Harry made a choking sound that may have covered a giggle. “No. Why would you think that?” When Draco gestured toward his hand, his confusion cleared, but it was replaced with an expression far more awkward than Draco had hoped for. “Oh. That’s– Do you remember all those detentions Umbridge gave?” 

Draco didn’t reply; the answer was obvious, and since Potter was clearly trying not to sound accusatory, Draco didn’t want to alienate him. 

“She made us write lines…” Harry continued, “with a blood quill.” He held out his hand, close enough that Draco could not only see the mark was a scar but also read the words. 

“That’s—that’s illegal.” Draco didn’t know why he was surprised; he’d witnessed her doing things that were far more serious, legally speaking. Something about having to torture yourself, though, made this even worse. “I’m sorry.” 

Harry nodded, but Draco could tell he thought Draco meant it as a platitude. “Not just about that.” He gestured at Harry’s hand again. “All of it – all of us. Last year was… surreal. And after so many years of being the House that was targeted…. It was easy to convince ourselves that it was our turn.” He shrugged, acknowledging the fault, not dismissing it. “It was wrong.” 

He wasn’t sure how he expected Harry to respond, but a wry smile wasn’t even close. “I can understand the temptation.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow, inviting him to tell the story behind the comment, but Harry shook his head. 

“Can I help?” 

It took a moment before Draco could ask “With what?” The disappointment that would follow if he meant what Draco feared he might would be absolute. Harry Potter needed to be confident in his side, in their mission, that they would win. He wouldn’t manage it otherwise, and that was something Draco desperately needed. 

“I heard you…. When you were talking to Myrtle.” He paused, and Draco found it impossible to breathe. “I know what it’s like… being expected to do things that seem impossible. I wanted to make sure you knew you had other options.” 

That sounded like an offer of asylum rather than willingness to sabotage his own side, and Draco exhaled in relief. Only a few hours ago, an offer of that sort would have been the answer to his prayers. Now, however grateful he was, it was too little, too late. He’d begun to cast Crucio on Harry Potter. That he had done so only to show that he couldn’t do it was irrelevant now; no one would believe it to be true now. Without leverage, without trust, there was no way to save his parents. Regardless, Draco tried—unsuccessfully – to find the words with which he could ask. 

The silence stretched, and Harry seemed to take it as a refusal. “If you change your mind, the offer stands. Even if you don’t… I owe you a personal debt.” 

The slight emphasis on the word personal hurt and convinced Draco that asking was futile. If Potter thought he might try to use the offer to influence the war… that he wouldn’t respect things that were private between them… when he’d made no accusations to teachers, given no confirmation to Professor Snape or Madam Pomfrey …. Harry Potter had no understanding of who Draco was, and any connection Draco had imagined between them was just that, imagined. 

That hurt more than the physical pain. 

Draco yawned, though it probably looked as fake as it was. “I need to sleep, I think.” 

Harry looked disappointed, but he stood without Draco explicitly asking him to leave, reaching down to pick something fabric off the floor. He stood for a moment watching Draco, but all he was “Good night.” 

When he reached the door to the hall, he paused again, then spoke softly enough that Draco could pretend he hadn’t heard. “I mean it, you know.” 

* * *

**2011**

The owl arrived as Harry was preparing breakfast. 

“Dad, the owl won’t give me the letter.” James whined. He was very fond of owls and sulked when they didn’t adore him in return. “It’s addressed to you.” 

Harry handed the spatula to Ginny and went to the window. The impressive looking eagle owl reminded him of the one that brought parcels to Draco Malfoy at school. Given how frequently he’d been mentioned the past few days, it wasn’t unexpected, nor was pang Harry felt at the thought. 

The owl was docile enough when Harry approached and very arrogant. She did, however, deign to accept the treat he offered in exchange for the letter. She flew off immediately after, so Harry assumed a written reply would not be required. 

The letter was on very heavy, elegant parchment, sealed with wax dusted in gold. He frowned when he read the return address. “It’s from Smythe, Peabody, and Chase,” he told Ginny. 

“Smythe, Peabody, and Chase? The law firm?” she repeated, equally bewildered. “What do they want?” 

Harry finished reading before he replied; it didn’t take long. “It doesn’t give much detail. They want a meeting, with both of us, this afternoon. I’m to reply if we need to reschedule.” 

“Curious.” 

“Very.” Harry agreed, and because that had always been his downfall, he made plans to rearrange his schedule so he could keep the appointment. Ginny did the same. 

The offices of Smythe, Peabody, and Chase were as elegantly appointed as one would expect from what claimed to be the oldest and most prestigious legal firm in the Wizarding World. The walls were covered in tapestries that must have taken years – decades – to make, and the seating looked soft and inviting. The receptionist, on the other hand, was neither, though she had obviously been quite a few decades in the making herself. 

“May I help you?” If she recognized either of the Potters, she wasn’t impressed. 

“We were invited to meet with Eglantine Smythe. I’m Harry Potter, and this is my wife, Ginny.” 

The receptionist checked for the appointment, made them sign in with a truth-spelled quill (not a blood one, thankfully, though Harry wouldn’t be surprised if she’d considered it). That done, she led them into an office that was just as grand as the reception and offered to fetch them a beverage. They both refused, which was the first thing that seemed to please the receptionist about them thus far. 

She informed them that Ms. Smythe would be with them shortly, then paused as though she was considering warning them against touching anything but pivoted neatly and left the room without speaking further. Ginny reached for Harry’s hand, and he clasped it in his, though he didn’t turn to look at her. He thought he felt her shaking slightly and knew it would be for the same reason he was; holding back the laughter would be impossible if their eyes met. 

Eventually, he heard her exhale slowly, and her grip loosened. “I really hope she hasn’t gone to tell Mum we’ve been naughty.” 

Harry grinned, but before he could respond, the door opened, admitting an elderly woman who looked as though she belonged and a younger man who did not. 

“Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, I am Eglantine Smythe and this is my associate, Irus Bufo.” She reached out to shake their hands before seating herself on one of the chairs opposite them; Mr. Bufo did not. “Thank you for agreeing to meet today without knowing the context. The matter is both complicated and of some delicacy, and I thought it best that explanations be done in person. You are aware that Draco Malfoy was recently reported missing.” 

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances and nodded. Following the war, Lucius had been sentenced to Azkaban for a far shorter period than many thought he deserved. In addition to the torture he’d suffered during the war, the conditions were difficult even without the Dementors, and he died only a couple years after his sentencing. Not long after the funeral, Narcissa, Draco, his wife, and their newborn son left for the continent. They’d returned only a few months ago, and the story had scarcely ceased to be news worthy when Draco had been abducted – in broad daylight – from Diagon Alley. Only hours after his disappearance, his wife had reported their son was also missing. That had been three days ago. 

Harry had spoken to the Aurors on the case briefly the day before, and they’d been very concerned about how few leads they’d found. Unspoken was the contradictory nature of the info they did have, but Harry was an Auror as well and recognized the signs. 

“His house elf has come forward, claiming to have the child. She recommended that the will be opened. Immediately.” 

Harry and Ginny started. House elves had specialized magic, especially where the head of the family is concerned, and to suggest such a thing meant Draco was almost certainly dead. Ginny reached to take Harry’s hand again; he’d always felt guilty, she knew, about Draco and what he hadn’t been able to do for the man, what Dumbledore had wanted. 

“The will includes a number of unusual provisions which will need to be applied, regardless of what the Aurors are able to discover. Draco Malfoy expressed concerns both in his will and to the Aurors before his disappearance about the safety of the child should he be given to his wife and her family.” 

“Unfounded.” Irus mumbled. Harry wasn’t certain if he’d meant it to be audible. 

“Unproven but not irrefutable.” Eglantine countered icily. “With Mr. Malfoy missing, there is reasonable cause for suspicion, and caution must be exercised. We have reason to believe the house elf would be willing to bring him forth if the terms of the will can be met. As he is the Malfoy heir, custody of Scorpius Malfoy is therefore, is determined by the head of the family—” 

“And the Wizengamot—” interjected the younger lawyer. Eglantine turned slowly to face him, and Irus fell silent, though he was visibly clenching his jaw. 

She turned back to face Harry and Ginny. “Within the statues dictating reasonable guarantees about the health and welfare of the minor child,” Eglantine finished pointedly. 

Harry had a feeling they’d come to the purpose of their summons, though he couldn’t imagine how he would be relevant, even in his capacity as Auror. 

“In his will, Mr. Malfoy has requested that in the event his death or incapacitation is or could be construed as due to malfeasance, the custody of his son be given to you, Mr. Potter.” 

“To me? Why?” Harry asked, though he thought he might know. 

For a moment, Harry thought he saw surprise on the woman’s face. “No justification was included. It was assumed you would know.” She didn’t seem to be the sort who enjoyed riddles, but she quickly schooled her expression to one of neutrality. It slipped slightly when Irus spoke. 

“You are under no obligation to take the child,” Irus said, making Harry wonder what his interest in the proceedings was. 

“What about Astoria?” Ginny asked. “She’s his mother.” 

“No, she is not.” Eglantine gave the Potters a taste of the glares she’d been sending to her younger colleague. “The laws of Ancestry are very explicit, no matter how out of favour they may be in current times.” 

Harry stared at her blankly, then looked at Ginny for an explanation, but she didn’t seem to understand any better than he did. They turned back to Eglantine. 

She was too professional to sigh, but she clearly wished she weren’t. “Astoria Greengrass, in exchange for the legal rights and status for Draco Malfoy’s wife, waived any and all rights and responsibilities to any children conceived during or born into the marriage.” 

“But he’s still her son.” The lawyer began to interject again, but Ginny cut her off. “I understand their legal relationship. But he’s still her son, her stepson at the very least.” 

“That is the position of Ambrose Greengrass, that his daughter’s refusal to petition is a symptom of her grief. We’ll step out and let you discuss the matter. I’ll return in a few moments in case you have any questions.” Eglantine looked at her colleague and indicated the door with her head sharply. She looked as though only the presence of witnesses was preventing her from dragging him by the ear, Harry would lay galleons that there was a reprimand about to be delivered. 

Before exiting herself, Eglantine paused, then turned back to Harry and Ginny. 

“There is some sensitivity as to the timing of the situation.” She spoke softly, but her words carried easily. “I understand Astoria Malfoy has been… vehement in her opposition to motherhood as a role for herself, both during and after her pregnancy. Mr. Malfoy indicates in his will that he had reason to suspect that his wife may have been… unduly influenced to the point of suggesting she undergo medical examination if she attempts to pursue custody. The Greengrass family will be filing their petition with the Wizengamot this afternoon. There are several members who… respect neither the Malfoys nor the old laws, who may be willing to proceed contrary to the best for the child simply to thwart them.” She smiled thinly. “If we were able to present a fait accompli, it would simplify matters.” She left unsaid that the members who fell into that category were those also more likely to support Harry Potter and closed the door quietly behind her. 

Harry and Ginny looked at each other for several long moments without either of them saying a word. 

It was Harry who broke the silence. “I know we agreed not to have another baby.” As an argument, it was half-hearted, even Harry could hear that. 

Ginny smiled. “It’s a good thing he’d not a baby, then. He’d be about Al’s age, wouldn’t he?” 

“To the day, or nearly,” Harry agreed. He’d met Draco in the nursery at St. Mungo’s more than once It was one of few things he remembered from the tense days following Al’s difficult birth. “Are you sure?” I know you—” 

“Harry, I’m sure.” He could tell she wasn’t as unreservedly enthusiastic as she tried to sound, but he was equally certain she wanted to be. “What’s the alternative? Teddy’s just left for Hogwarts, and Andromeda’s stretched caring for Narcissa. So there would be a prolonged legal battle, then… what? The Greengrasses might have remained neutral in the war, but Astoria was in my year – a Ravenclaw – and we spoke enough for me to know her home life wasn’t the best. He needs us.” 

Harry searched her face for a sign that she didn’t mean what she said and found nothing but determination and empathy. He nodded. “Let's go home and tell the kids they're getting a new brother.” 

Her face fell slightly. “Harry....” It was soft and pleading, but she didn’t say anything else. 

“No, Ginny.”' His own voice was colder than he would have liked, but it was the only way he could push the sound through the wall of ice that protected the part of him that was still a little boy living with people who hated him. “It's all or nothing. I won't let him grow up an outsider.” 

It took her a moment, but she nodded, taking his hand and squeezing it briefly. 

Harry wondered if the room had eavesdropping Charms – he’d thought it rude to check when they’d entered and had forgotten once the lawyers had left – but he thought it likely when Eglantine Smythe chose that moment to return. 

The lawyer returned, trailed not by Irus Buto but by a younger aid she didn’t introduce who was carrying a terrifying amount parchment. 

“You’ve decided.” Eglantine didn’t pretend it was a question. 

Harry and Ginny nodded. “Of course we will.” 

“You have two options, Mr. Potter. Traditionally, in cases such as this – I’m using the phrase loosely, you understand – a standard guardianship application is used. You would have all the rights and responsibilities of raising the child. Once he reaches his majority, the contract is terminated.” That sounded awfully cold to Harry, and Eglantine must have agreed or at least seen something in Harry’s expression because her tone softened slightly when she added, “It is generally hoped that there exists sufficient emotional ties amongst all parties that the relationships are not severed completely. Should your own union be dissolved be it by divorce or separation before then, custody of Scorpius would be given to Mr. Potter regardless of what is decided for your biological children, barring proof of unfit parenting or incarceration.” 

She paused a moment, then began tentatively, “The second option…. Because Astoria Malfoy waived her rights to the child, Scorpius legally has only one parent. Draco Malfoy has sanctioned you, Mr. Potter, to petition for second parent adoption.” 

That couldn’t possibly mean what Harry assumed, and he asked for clarification. 

“Should Draco Malfoy be found and be declared competent,” Eglantine replied, “The guardianship could be voided at his request. The adoption would hold. Mr. Malfoy would have the right to require that, as heir, Scorpius be instructed in the management of the estate, but in all other areas your rights would be equal.” 

Harry looked at Ginny to find her looking back at him with a rueful smile. It probably wouldn’t have changed his decision, but he was glad she understood. 

They worked their way through the motions of adoption and guardianship as well as those necessary for Harry to act as executor of Scorpius’s trust fund. Once the paperwork had been signed and the aid left to submit it for filing, Irus Buto returned. Trying – and failing – to hide his gloating, he informed them that the Aurors had arrived. 

Eglantine was not entirely pleased, but she instructed him to show them in. “The filing of the paperwork will summon the Malfoy House elf,” she began but didn’t continue when the door opened again. It was all the explanation Harry needed, however. As an Auror himself, he knew he would be equally eager to obtain answers, and the pressure would be greater in a case as important as this one. 

One of the most prominent Death Eaters, one of the few who had been acquitted by the testimony of Harry Potter, had been taken from Diagon Alley in the middle of the day with no witnesses. It was the highest profile case since Sirius Black’s disappearance with a third of the department assigned to it. 

That last made it all the more disappointing when the Aurors who entered were Zacharias Smith and Colette Roy. Harry’s own history and dislike of Smith aside, Harry thought he was too quick to jump to conclusions and too stubborn to recognize when facts contradicted his pet theories. Colette was an excellent member of the team, but her strengths lay primarily in translation and administration; she was sent into the field only rarely, so her inclusion was unexpected. 

No sooner had the introductions been completed than the house elf appeared, alone. She looked around the room with more disdain than Harry would have thought possible from a house elf. 

“Kikki will be bringing the Malfoy Heir to Mr. Harry Potter when Mr. Harry Potter is being _alone_ behind family wards.” She glared darkly at Idrus, and Harry realized she was about to leave. “Excuse me, Kikki?” 

Smith and the two lawyers froze, and Kikki looked put upon but resigned. “Is Mr. Harry Potter wanting something?” she asked when he didn’t continue. 

“You said family wards… Does that mean mine or… Malfoy Manor?” 

She looked at Harry as though he were very stupid. “Master Scorpius is being part of Mr. Harry Potter’s family now. Family wards is being either.” She disappeared. 

Buto and Smith were obviously disappointed, though even Buto recognized that Smith suggestion that he accompany Harry was futile. When Harry and Ginny were finally permitted to leave, they decided that Ginny would collect their children from the Burrow and explain the situation while Harry went ahead to Grimmauld Place, just in case Kikki had actually meant ‘alone’ not just family. 

When Kikki appeared, the little boy with her was slight and blond, and he appeared younger than the five years Harry knew him to be. She was obviously protective, glaring obvious warnings at Harry when she was behind Scorpius but exuding nothing but reassurance towards the child. “Master Scorpius, Mister Harry Potter is going to be keeping you safe.” She made it sound like an introduction, then turned to Harry. “Where should Kikki be putting Master Scorpius’s things?” 

Harry hadn’t noticed the trunk that had appeared with them, but he directed Kikki to the room Kreacher was preparing. She vanished with the trunk, but not before Harry recognized an expression Dobby had worn at his most determined. He swallowed, hard, and found Scorpius doing the same. 

He invited the boy to sit with him on the sofa, and they watched each other for a long moment without saying anything. It was Scorpius who broke the silence. 

“ _Kikki me dit que_ —” he stopped, probably at Harry’s blank look and began again in lightly accented English, “Kikki said that Papa—” He stopped as tears welled in his eyes. “Papa showed me your picture, before we came to the white house. He said I must listen to you if—if something—” he swallowed hard then finished the sentence in a rush, “ifsomethinghappenedtohim.” He was trying very hard not to cry, and Harry was hard-pressed not to smother him in a hug. It’s what he would have done with any of his own—any of his other children, but he thought it might scare the boy next to him. He did reach out a hand, near but not touching, so Scorpius could take it if he wished. He did, squeezing it tightly as he asked, “Did something happen to him?” 

“We’re not certain.” Others might reproach him for fostering artificial hope, but Harry wouldn’t lie, not about something this important. “You know he’s… missing?” 

Scorpius nodded, and the tears fell. 

“The Aurors are trying to find him, but until they do, and he’s capable of caring for you, you’ll be staying here, as part of our family.” Harry took a deep breath. “Either way, your father asked me to adopt you. I know you already have a dad—” 

Scorpius shook his head. “I have a Papa.” 

That wasn’t what Harry had meant, but it might make things easier. “If you want, then, you can call me ‘Dad’ and my wife ‘Mom’; that’s what our other children do, but if you’d prefer, you can call us Harry and Ginny. It’s up to you. And if you want to change your mind later, that’s fine as well. Whatever you like.” 

* * *

The transition wasn’t entirely smooth. The Potter children were as loud naturally as Scorpius was shy; fortunately, Al, the calmest of the three, was the one closest in age to Scorpius, and they seemed to get along. James seemed pretty complacent about the situation, but Lily was exhibiting obvious signs of jealousy – towards Al, not Scorpius. She was determined to mother their new addition and resented Al’s interference. 

Their first Sunday dinner at the Burrow went surprisingly well. James had an unerring sense for plotting and was able to protect Scorpius from several of their cousins’ welcome to the family pranks. They’d only just returned home and begun the daily bedtime battle – Scorpius proved to be remarkably adept at wielding puppy dog eyes – when the Floo flared with a call for Harry from the Ministry. 

When Harry had finished his conversation with the Aurors and thanked them, he turned to his family – they were all watching him intently. He didn’t often get Floo calls on the weekend, certainly not this late, so they knew it had to be important. He looked at Scorpius, already flanked by Al and Lily. Ginny and James hovered nearby. They’d guessed, correctly, that the news had to do with him 

“They’ve found Draco Malfoy. He’s unconscious, but he’s alive.” 

Harry waited until he was alone with Ginny to explain that the Aurors had found definitive proof that the curse had been cast by Astoria’s family. Her brother had protested her own innocence, however, but since he’d been one of the most ardently insistent that Astoria be granted contact, they were taking their time to confirm before believing him. 

* * *

“Mr. Malfoy was held in less than ideal conditions.” Polly Roarke, the Healer in charge of Draco’s case, was an elderly woman who was probably gentle and soft-spoken when she wasn’t very, very angry. “When they brought him in, he was severely chilled and in need of food, though not technically starving. He has a broken wrist and bruising in several areas, but nothing that can’t be healed naturally. That is the good news. The bad news is that they will have to heal naturally, at least until we identify the unknown substances in his bloodstream. He seems to have consumed a potion, the base was or closely resembled the Draught of Living Death. In Mr. Malfoy, however, it had been modified in ways we do not yet understand. Whatever it is intended to do, it does not seem to be harming Mr. Malfoy beyond keeping him unconscious. It is resistant to any attempt to remove it, and, at this point, any estimate as to when or even if he will wake would be conjecture.” 

The hospital room, though intended for long term stays, was bare still, and it looked depressing. They’d have to do something about that. Regardless of how long Draco would be lying here before he gained consciousness, no one deserved to wake to that. 

Scorpius loitered in the doorway. He’d asked to see his father alone, but Harry set a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to stay?” There was a shadow of doubt, but in the end, the boy shook his head. “Alright,” Harry said, “I’ll be just outside with the others.” 

Scorpius nodded, and his steps were more confident as he approached the chair by the bed. As Harry looked over from the door, he’d taken Draco’s hand in his and spoke quietly in French. 

It was nearly an hour later when the door opened, and Harry and Al stood. Scorpius had been crying at some point, though he wasn’t now. He smiled shyly at Al before asking Harry, “Where is everyone else?” 

”They’ve gone to see the play park that’s on the grounds. Would you like to join them?” Scorpius nodded. 

Harry asked Al to show him the way. “Tell your mum I’ll be just another couple of minutes.” 

Al nodded, and the two boys left, remembering not to run in the halls, but only barely. 

Harry faced the white door, wondering why this was so much harder alone than it had been with a five year old boy. 

He took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and closed it carefully behind him. The room was bright and small, but the fear was the same as that night so long ago. Sitting in the chair next to the bed, he began speaking, trying to hold in check the hope that Draco would respond in spite of the healer’s warnings. 

“Hello, Draco.” 

He couldn’t help waiting, watching, just in case there was movement. There wasn’t, of course, and Harry had to figure out what he needed to say. “He’s a great kid. I’m not entirely sure why you chose me, but I’m grateful for the chance to get to know him. He’s settling well – as well as can be expected. He misses you, of course. He cuts himself off, but it’s obvious he wants to talk about you all the time. We try to encourage him.” He was so still. It was unnerving, so much so that Harry reached out to clasp Draco’s hand gently. It was warm and yielding in Harry’s, and Harry no longer felt like he was speaking to a corpse. He let out a long, slow breath before he spoke again. “The Healers… they don’t have much hope. They aren’t saying so, of course, but it’s easy to see.” Harry’s hand tightened a bit around Draco’s. “But they don’t know you. They don’t know what you can do, how stubborn you are when your family needs you. And they need you, Draco, Scorpius and Narcissa. I’ll be there, but they need you. So wake up soon, yeah?” 

* * *

**2012**

June 6th was a perfectly lovely day, clear and warm. Rather than all of them spending it tucked inside Draco’s hospital room – transformed as it had been by Scorpius and Ginny, it was still small and not the best place for four active children to spend several hours – Harry obtained permission to bring Draco outside. The mediwitch transfigured a bench into a chaise longue, and Draco lay in it, looking for all the world as though he’d simply dozed off. The children ran, playing tag or some made up version of ground Quidditch – Harry wasn’t certain which. 

Scorpius had sat with his father for a while, but Harry assured him that Draco would not begrudge him the time playing, and that Harry himself would talk to Draco. The healers weren’t certain Draco could hear them, but they didn’t dispute the possibility he might. He certainly reacted at times in ways that seemed as though he could – a slight smile or furrow in his brow, a twitch of his hand – though the healers cautioned that it was equally possible they were involuntary reflexes or in response to a dream. 

Harry and the children chose to ignore caution. 

So Harry told him about the children—amusing stories and about their latest obsessions – and explained that Ginny was touring with the Harpies. He talked about Quidditch stats and Ministry politics. 

He was telling Draco about the difficulties he was having learning French – an unfortunate necessity now that Scorpius was teaching his siblings and cousins – when Albus raced toward them. 

“Dad! Papa! Look!” He cried as he threw himself over Draco’s knees and thrust his hand at Harry. 

It still bemused Harry when they addressed Draco as Papa. It became obvious soon after Scorpius came to live with them that he was uncomfortable addressing Harry or Ginny directly or referring to them. They had assumed it was because he didn’t want to call them Dad and Mom, and they assured him that he could call them by their given names if he wished. He’d nodded, but hadn’t done so. It wa a few days later that James and Lily had confronted their parents – Albus had been tasked with occupying Scorpius – so they could explain the actual problem: Scorpius was uncomfortable sharing the Potter children’s parents without sharing his own. The other children agreed that it was only fair. 

It had been an uncomfortable conversation, to say the least. 

As he usually did when the children addressed him directly, Draco turned his head and smiled, as Harry tried to convince Albus that insects were happier on the ground than they were in children’s hands. 

The rest of the children joined him after a while and they all talked together, speaking to Draco as often as they did to each other, tattling and bragging and commiserating. They spoke of their Weasley cousins and their friends – most of whom were the children of people who’d had great reason to dislike Draco, Harry realized, and he made a mental note to see who from Draco’s circle would be interested in speaking with Scorpius and having their children over to play. They’d be able to speak about Draco when he was younger, tell stories about him that Harry wouldn’t know. 

When the light began to change, Harry checked the time and was surprised to discover they had, indeed been at the hospital for the entire day. He’d have to apologize to Luna and Rolf – he’d made tentative plans to bring the children over after their visit. Remembering Luna’s intention not to tell her own children – it would be a surprise, she’d said, when the Potters arrived – he thought perhaps she’d expected them not to arrive. 

* * *

**2013**

It was a bright and clear November day when Harry had stopped by Draco’s room to tell him the news Harry had heard at work not two hours earlier. 

He sat by the bed, and took Draco’s hand in his, because it seemed the thing to do, under the circumstances. 

“It’s Astoria, Draco. She’d dead.” 

There was more he could have said about how and when, but that was the part that mattered. And Harry could see tears slipping out from under Draco’s closed eyelids. 

Until well after they ceased, Harry sat in silence holding his hand. 

* * *

**2014**

Scorpius closed the door carefully behind him and walked over to where Harry was waiting. Despite the people nearby – that sort of thing was starting to matter to the boy– he wrapped his arms around Harry, and they hugged tightly. Some visits were easier than others , and on the days when Draco didn’t respond – or the days when he responded more than usual – Scorpius needed the contact. Harry didn’t ask which today had been. 

In the first months, each visit ended with more disappointment and began with less hope. Acceptance was not a quick assassin, Neville had said once, and there was little so painful as the torture of faith. 

When Scorpius pulled back, Harry let him and didn’t mention the tears that were threatening to fall. “Ready?” 

Scorpius blinked and nodded. 

In the waiting room, they found Hermione sitting with Andromeda and Narcissa. A beaming smile broke through any lingering shadows, and Scorpius hurried over to hug each of them. 

“There’s so many more than we thought when the program was devised,” Hermione said, continuing the conversation they’d been having. “We simply don’t have the space, but so many of them are left in such terrible conditions!” 

“I thought the funding for the Residential School was secured.” Andromeda replied, confused. “The publicity suggested the program was well supported.” 

Hermione huffed. “Oh, it is, in principle. When the infants and children in question are werewolves, however, the prevailing philosophy seems to be 'anywhere but my backyard.'” 

Scorpius, who’d made himself comfortable on Narcissa’s lap and hadn’t seemed to be paying attention to the conversation, looked up. “Werewolf children,” he repeated, “Like Teddy?” 

Teddy was as much a brother to Scorpius as he was to Harry’s children, and he and Scorpius had a special bond. Not least because of the character trait they shared: they were both metamorphmagi. 

“Some of them are like Teddy, yes, children who had a parent who was a werewolf,” Hermione said, “Some of them are werewolves themselves.” Not for the first time, she and Harry exchanged looks that spoke of shared pain and regret. They’d done their best, they knew that, but finding the horcruxes had taken so much time. Time that a sadistic werewolf and his followers had used to wreak so much havoc. 

“They can stay in my backyard.” Scorpius’s words sliced through the memories. “They can stay at Malfoy Manor. It’s really big,” Scorpius added with painful earnestness when no one replied, “And no one lives there.” 

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Narcissa said, hugging Scorpius as the rest of the adults gaped at her. “We shall draw up a lease immediately.” 

* * *

**2015**

“Hi, Papa!” Lily deposited her gifts on the bed before crawling up herself. “Dad’s been accosted by Healer Altus again, but he’ll be along in a minute. It's just Dad and me today: Mum's playing in an exhibition match in Dublin, and the boys are degnoming Nana's garden as punishment for pranking Roxanne. She's worse than uncle Percy for being prissy and deserved it, but I told them putting Confusing Concoction in her pudding was a bad idea, but they didn't listen and so they'll be doing chores for Nana on Sat for the next three weeks. They'll visit you tomorrow, but I didn't want you to miss your Saturday.” 

She reached for the first of the things she’d brought, her beloved plush kneazle. “I thought you might like to hug Norman. He’s really soft, see?” She took Papa’s hand and used it to pet the long fur. She smiled when he curled his fingers into the hair. “I know, right? Here,” She tucked Norman under Papa’s arm, “You can hold him. Do you want me to read to you? I brought _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and the latest adventure of _Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_.” Her face fell slightly when he didn’t respond. “Well, I’ll start with Martin, and you can let me know if you want me to stop.” 

* * *

**2016**

Harry wasn’t sure how to explain this one, so he started with the root of it, then digressed. 

“James started Hogwarts this year. In case you hadn’t guessed, that makes you feel old as hell, by the way. Watching our kids, the kids of people we know – Merlin, it’s depressing. James was so excited, though. His mother must have caught him trying to smuggle his broom into his trunk at least six times. They’ve all heard the stories about me, of course, so there wasn’t much I could say, so I left that to her. 

“He owled home the next day to tell us he’d been sorted into Gryffindor – though we’d heard from Neville the night before – not that there was much surprise there. He’s as Weasley as they come, that one. 

“He’s a remarkably good letter writer is James, for frequency anyway. We despair of his spelling and grammar and penmanship, but he tells a good tale. His uncle George sent a care package; there’s no way he brought it himself, the number of times Ginny went through his trunk. And he’s been in no end of trouble over it; all his letters have stories about the pranks he’s pulled and the trouble that’s come of it. 

“As a result,” Harry continued, nearing the point, “Scorpius has realized how often you’re referred to by your surname at school. He’s asked….,” Harry took a deep breath. “He’s asked if he can use our name, in addition to yours. We’re happy to let him, so we took him down to the solicitors, and we found the letters waiting for us.” He squeezed Draco’s hand, tightly. “Thank you.” 

_To Be Given to Harry J. Potter In The Event That He And Scorpius S. Malfoy Petition To Add ‘Potter’ To The Surname Of The Latter._

_When I requested that you assume custody of Scorpius, I hoped that you would treat him as one of your own, that he would find the home and family that I could no longer provide. I hoped, but I wasn’t certain it was possible. For you and he to agree to change his name to include yours – I can think of no greater proof that my wish was fulfilled. That is worth more than any debt that that could have been owed. Thank you._

_Please give the enclosed to Scorpius._

* * *

**2017**

Albus and Scorpius had been plotting before they went to Hogwarts, and neither boy was a straightforward as James. Ginny and Harry joined Hermione and Ron for dinner, and the four waited eagerly awaited the letter from Neville. What they received was a rather cryptic note – _I thought this might make it easier_ – and a vial of what Harry knew to be memories. 

Hermione retrieved her Pensieve, and Harry poured the vial into it. 

Neville hadn’t given them much, but the four watched the boys and Rose, lined up along the wall and bouncing with anticipation, and the older children sitting on the benches, glad to be at school – until lessons began, at least – and eager for the food as the Deputy Headmistress produced the Sorting Hat. 

Albus was the first to be called. He hesitated, Harry wondered if he was remembering the conversation they’d had on the platform, but he stumbled forward when Scorpius, who was blond today, pushed him lightly. 

The hat considered but not for an unusually long while before calling “Slytherin!” Ron gasped, but Al stepped off the stool and returned the Hat with steady hands. He smiled and waved towards his siblings and cousins when they broke the silence with cheers, then strode to his house’s table. 

“Potter-Malfoy, Scorpius.” 

None of the adults spoke again – or even breathed – until after Rose had been sorted. When she was settled next to Scorpius at the Gryffindor table, the four of them pulled out of the Pensieve. They stared at each other in disbelief, and it was Harry who finally broke the silence. 

“Draco’s going to kill me.” 

* * *

**2018**

With all the kids at school and Ginny on tour, Harry wasn’t ready to face the quiet of a Saturday home alone. It was different, somehow, when it was a rare treat and not the first of a seemingly unending series of them, so he’d left for the hospital earlier than usual. 

Keeping Draco’s muscles from atrophying was a concern – more of one for those who thought he would eventually wake, Harry thought bitterly, thinking of the most recent disagreement he’d had with the Head of Long Term Care. Manual exercises were best, but they were also time-consuming, and since there were spells that would help, even the staff who cared most had to make sacrifices far too often. 

Time was something Harry had to spare, however, and it wasn’t the first time he’d assisted; he’d asked and been taught the exercises soon after Draco had been admitted. 

He was nearly finished when one of the new trainees entered the room, a woman who looked to be far too young to be finished school. She put a pile of supplies in the cupboard then turned and watched him for several moments with a puzzled expression. 

“Can I help you with something, Trainee…?” 

She flushed. “Shipton, sir. Tara Shipton.” She bit her lip, obviously trying to decide how much to say. “Healer Gregg has the trainees go through the records of the long term patients. He says a fresh set of eyes can be the most important tool for a diagnosis. I noticed that Mr. Malfoy had been recommended for home care, and I thought– you and your family are here so often…. You know the spells and the exercises. It wouldn’t be much more work.” 

Harry stared at her, confused. “It says home care was recommended, and I refused?” 

Trainee Shipton swallowed, then replied cautiously, “Well, it said home care wasn’t possible. I assumed that meant it was your decision… or Mrs. Potter’s.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” Ginny might not come as often as Harry and the children, but that was because she travelled a lot and took advantage of having time alone at home to get things done; she wouldn’t– “I need to talk to Healer Gregg.” Declan Gregg had been Draco’s Healer in Charge since Healer Roarke had retired about six months after Draco had been found. Harry had nothing but respect for the man and knew him to be honest, forthright, and dedicated to Draco’s care. 

Which was why his response to Harry’s questions were both frustrating and surprising. “I’m unable to speak on the subject, Mr. Potter.” 

“Healer Gregg–” 

“Not unwilling, Mr. Potter,” He said pointedly, “Unable.” 

Suddenly, Harry understood. “Who?” 

“All recommendations regarding changes in status of care must be approved by the Head of Long Term care, Healer Altus.” 

* * *

Declan Gregg was reading Trainee Shipton’s rotation report when the Aurors came to arrest Healer Altus on charges of malpractice, falsifying official records, medical malfeasance – and those were the simply the ones he’d overheard. 

He smiled in satisfaction then returned his attention to the report and laughed. Summarizing her most valuable lessons, Tara Shipton had written, _Don’t make assumptions, ask questions if something seems odd, and don’t make decisions for Harry Potter._

“Well done, Trainee Shipton.” 

_Grade: O_

* * *

**2019**

Harry made his way to Draco’s room, nearly certain that the children were finally asleep. They always fought bedtime, but tonight they were determined to stay awake until Ginny came home. She been away for several weeks, but sleep and Harry had prevailed, if only because they’d been up so late the night before watching the Harpies win the league and Ginny was later than expected. 

He was telling Draco about the challenged resulting from Scorpius’ sudden decision to become a vegetarian when he looked up to see Ginny standing in the door. “Welcome home,” he said warmly. 

“Thanks.” She smiled, but she seemed distracted. “I’m going to put these down,” she added, indicating her luggage. 

He nodded, but didn’t ask why she hadn’t given it to Kreacher. They both tended to do things for themselves, no matter how long they lived with house elves. 

Ginny hadn’t returned by the time Harry finished recounting the day to Draco, but he found her sitting at the vanity in their room. “Welcome home,” he said, kissing her temple as he passed behind her to the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

She was still there when he crawled into bed, but she soon joined him. “How was your day?” 

“Long,” he replied. Fatigue had hit when he was brushing his teeth, and he was desperate for sleep, but he thought he could listen if she needed to talk. “How was yours?” 

She hummed non-committally, and he closed his eyes gratefully. 

“What are we doing?” 

There was a trap there, and Harry was far too tired to see it. “Going to sleep?” It was said with more hope than confidence. 

“Harry, I’ve been away for weeks.” 

He stared at her. “It’s after midnight.” 

“I’ve been home for an hour, and you spent most of that time talking with Draco.” 

She didn’t sound as angry as he expected – and he was very grateful for that – but she deserved an apology, even he could see that. “I’m sorry, Ginny–” 

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t mind.” Her eyes were wide, bright and clear. “But I should.” 

“Ginny–” he began, confused, but she cut him off again. 

“The Norway National team offered me the position of assistant coach. I’m going to take it.” 

Harry suddenly realized what she’d meant. 

* * *

**2020**

“Hello, Draco.” 

Ginny watched intently, but, as ever, there was no reaction. There were many occasions when it seemed as though Draco was an active – if silent – participant in conversations. In the years he’d been unconscious, however, he’d responded only a handful of times when she’d spoken or touched him. Most of the time, he was inordinately still. Like he was now. 

So she didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I saw the way you watched him, even when you claimed you hated him and everything he stood for. The way you needed him to notice you. And then that horrible year… I know that you targeted the people closest to him specifically, so that the others would leave us alone, and I know that you’re the one who made sure we had Potions and food when we desperately needed it.” Ginny sat silently, taking a moment to separate the woman she was now from the girl she was then. 

“I understand, you know, better than anyone. I’ve loved him for as long as you have. What I didn’t understand was that the way we love is different or that it can… evolve. But he’s my best friend and the father of my children – most of them, anyway,” she amended ruefully. “Nothing will change that.” She grinned in anticipation. “Not even my remarriage.” 

She was pleased to see Draco’s head turn towards her, just slightly. “I’m telling Harry and the children tonight and the rest of my family tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you myself.” _And not just for the satisfaction of seeing you react._

“He’s been able to use the divorce as an excuse so far, but once I’ve remarried, Mum’s going to be throwing every remotely acceptable woman at him as an apology for my breaking his heart; that neither of us had our heart broken won’t matter in the slightest.” 

She stood, patting his hand. “So, you might want to consider waking up one of these days, if you don’t want to lose your chance. Just my opinion.” 

* * *

**2021**

_The fog of comfort was fading, slowly at first, worn by a niggling suspicion that he’d forgotten something. He was able to ignore it, for the most part, retreating further into the shadows when it became distraction._

_It followed._

_The more determined he was to retreat, the faster the fog dissipated._

_Where he had once felt safe, he was hunted. There was only one avenue left to him, and thrusting aside the fear, he took it._

Draco opened his eyes.

The room was dark, filled with shadows that Draco remembered meant it was night-time. It took a while to focus, to identify objects and relative distance. 

When he felt he’d recovered his equilibrium, he sat up and investigated further. The room was smaller than his own, either in Paris or the manor, but it wasn’t crowded. The few pieces of furniture – the bed, the wardrobe, and a small desk – were oak and well cared for.

He didn’t recognize much, but he saw enough to know with near certainty that he was safe, so he didn’t panic when he heard movement outside, footsteps hurrying up stairs and down a hall. The door opposite the bed opened, and, somehow, Draco was unsurprised when Harry Potter entered.

“You’re awake.” He said and stopped short.

It should have been comforting, having him state the obvious, but – “You’re old.”

Harry laughed, disgruntled and a little awkward, and Draco froze. “How long has it been?”

“Ten years.”

Draco closed his eyes and exhaled a long, slow breath. _So long_. “Scorpius?”

Harry smiled and Draco saw not only the fondness he’d hoped for but love.

“He’s great. Thank you,” Harry added seriously, “Thank you for trusting me with caring for him. He’s at school of course, but once the mediwitch arrives, I’ll contact the school and have them send him home.”

Draco shook his head. “Don’t,” he said softly.

Harry started. “You don’t want to see him?” Draco was grateful that he seemed confused rather than accusing, but the mediwitch arrived before Draco could explain.

Harry greeted her fondly and introduced her as Healer Shipton. After an exhausting series of tests and questions Draco was largely unable to answer, she confirmed that there was no trace of the modified Potion lest, nor any magical taint from his prolonged period of unconsciousness.

“It’s my considered opinion – and I’m it insofar as anyone can be an expert in a case as unusual as this – is that a relapse is highly unlikely. Begin with light foods, Mr. Malfoy, no matter what seasonal delights are put in front of you.” She grinned at them. “What a lovely Christmas gift for you all!”

The healer shook Draco’s hand, and Harry left with her – to show her out, ostensibly, though they’d certainly speak about him, Draco thought – but Harry returned quickly.

“Why don’t you want to see him?” Harry asked without preamble.

“It’s not— Merlin, Harry. Of course I want to see him. More than anything. But before I do, I need-- I need to remember how to be Draco Malfoy before being someone’s father. Healer Shipton implied the Christmas holidays are soon?”

Harry nodded. “End of term is Tuesday.” He paused. “Today’s Saturday.”

“Can we wait until Tuesday?”

Harry looked as though he wanted to argue, but he nodded.

* * *

Harry thanked Minerva and closed the floo to wait for Scorpius. She’d stayed on as headmistress long after people had expected her to retire, and he was grateful for many reasons – not the least of which was his confidence in her ability to load the rest of his curious children onto the train without their brother or a mutiny.

Of course, Minerva had also said she would assure Scorpius that nothing was wrong before sending him through, but the teen who exited the floo was obviously worried. “Is it Papa? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine.” Scorpius threw himself at Harry before he could continue.

“I know Professor McGonagall said everything was fine, but I was terrified something had happened to Papa.”

“Something did happen, Scorpius, but it’s not bad. He woke up.”

Scorpius stared at him, puzzled, as though he didn’t understand the meaning of the words Harry had spoken. “He… woke? Papa?” Joy lit his face, and he turned to run for the stairs. “Papa! PAPA!” He stopped abruptly when Draco appeared in the doorway of the sitting room, and they stared at each other for several moments before falling into each other’s arms. " _Oh, Papa. Tu m'as manqué._ " The words were barely audible through Scorpius’s tears.

Draco buried his face in Scorpius’ hair, his son who was nearly as tall as he was. “Me, too, Scorpius, so much.”

* * *

As it happened, remembering Draco wasn’t nearly as difficult as adjusting to the ten years of life that had happened around him. He’d assumed that once the healer had given him a clean bill of health, he would return to Malfoy Manor. He hadn’t though it ideal – he felt no more ready to be a son than he was to be a father – but it was a shock nonetheless to discover that she wasn’t living there and that a number of werewolves and their families were.

He was further disconcerted by Harry’s assumption that Draco would remain where he was. “You’re family, you as much as Scorpius,” he’d said matter-of-factly, and any doubts about _that_ had been dispelled when Teddy Lupin had arrived from King’s Cross with the Potter children. Their reaction to Draco’s awakening had been every bit as dramatic as Scorpius’s, and he’d received more casual touches and more hugs in the past few days than he’d had in the ten years before Scorpius had been born.

The children spent Christmas Eve with Ginny, and Draco was grateful; he was feeling a bit overwhelmed. He’d retreated to his room and was trying unsuccessfully to keep his attention focussed on the book he was trying to read when Harry stopped in the doorway. He didn’t speak and looked altogether uncomfortable.

When Draco asked what it was he wanted, Harry flushed. “I used to—At night, I would… come in and talk to you, tell you about the day. I’m sorry for bothering you. I’ll just—” Harry started to back away from the door.

“You’re welcome to come in if you don’t mind that I’m capable of talking back.”

Harry flushed again but to Draco’s delight, he entered the room. He’d nearly reached the bed when he faltered, obviously realizing that there was no longer a chair next to it. Draco patted the mattress next to him – he didn’t want to perpetuate the illusion that he was an invalid – and Harry sat gingerly. “You reacted often, as though you could hear us. Could you?”

Draco shook his head, then shrugged. “I don’t remember details, really, just vague impressions of emotions – comfort, happiness…fear. Much like dreams you can’t quite remember in the light of day.” Not wanting to dwell on the memories, he changed the subject, “I thought you came to tell me about your day.”

Harry laughed. “I’ve talked for years; now, it’s your turn. How did the meeting with the lawyers go?”

”It was relatively straightforward. Thank you for caring for Scorpius, for making him part of your family, legally and in practice. It means… a great deal to me.”

“I was happy to do it. I would have done it even without the debt.”

“I didn’t ask you to care for Scorpius to collect a debt,” Draco corrected him, “I’ve never felt you owed me one. What you did was… a proportional response to what I was about to do.” _What you thought I was about to do._ Harry was obviously about to argue, and Draco didn’t want the conversation derailed. “That’s not why I did it,” he repeated.

“Then why?” Harry asked with evident confusion.

”With Mother’s heath as delicate as it is, I knew she wouldn’t be able to raise another child, and there was no one else I could trust to protect him – not just from the physical threats posed by my former in-laws or those who chose to take vengeance upon him for my crimes.” Draco saw Harry failing to hide a wince and knew that something of the sort had been tried, and his heart ached for his son. “There was no one else I could trust to give him a sense of self-worth in spite of his name and its history. I knew you would raise him with humour and courage and affection… all the things I couldn’t.” Draco stopped speaking, torn between shame at how much he’d revealed and relief that he’d been able to say the words.

“Draco.” Harry spoke quietly, and Draco tensed, keeping his eyes on the bedding. “Look at me.”

Draco exhaled slowly, then raised his eyes to meet Harry’s intent gaze. “You underestimate yourself – you always have done when it mattered. It takes far more courage, more strength, to take a stand against the people you love, to recognize the right thing when you’ve been told all your life it was wrong. I’m not sure I could have done it.” Harry reached out and took Draco’s hand in his. “I’ve thought about it, how things could have been if I’d grown up with people who cared about me.” He looked away from Draco then and seemed to realize that he was holding Draco’s hand. He released it and excused himself.

Before Draco could reply, he’d left the room.

* * *

Christmas morning was every bit as loud and chaotic as he had expected it to be, and Harry and the children just as excited, but Draco couldn’t quite capture their enthusiasm. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying himself or that he felt excluded – on the contrary, everyone seemed comfortable with his presence and included him naturally in conversation. He simply couldn’t seem to shake the sorrow at having missed so much of Scorpius’s childhood or the guilt that came with admitting that he wouldn’t change things even if he could: because if he’d been awake, Scorpius wouldn’t have had this childhood, and Draco was so grateful that he had.

The gifts had been opened gifts and the discarded wrapping was strewn around the room. Lily was reading aloud from one of the many books she received, while Albus listened half-heartedly and plucked at his new lute. James and Scorpius were debating the Arrow’s chances in the afternoon’s exhibition game over a fierce battle on a chess board. 

It was a riot of sound and colour.

Draco turned to Harry and found him staring back with a sympathetic smile before he stood. “All right, I’m going to start breakfast, and I’m drafting your papa to help. You lot try and tear yourselves away from your bounty long enough to see about restoring some order.” 

There was some half-hearted grumbling, but they’d started to clean even before Draco followed Harry to the kitchen.

“What do you need me to do?”

“There’s nothing, really,” Harry admitted, “But I thought you might like a short break from the madness.”

Draco smiled. “I do, thank you. But I’d like to help, since I’m here.”

Harry directed Draco to set the table, which he did while watching Harry preparing the food, an obviously familiar dance. “Do you do this often?” He knew Harry had at least one house elf; Draco had seen him several times.

“Occasionally.” Harry shrugged awkwardly. “It’s something I like to do, usually on holidays and birthdays.”

When the table was finished, Harry set him to slicing bread. It was a simple enough, though it put him in the middle of Harry’s dance floor. There wasn’t a great deal of space for two people in the kitchen proper, and more than once Harry touched Draco’s back or shoulder as he moved passed, holding Draco still or indicating how he needed Draco to shift. Once, Harry placed a hand on Draco’s hip for balance as he reached for a serving platter; Draco stiffened at that last, and Harry noticed.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry said, backing away as far as he could in the confined space, “Since the war, I've this terrible habit of not respecting personal space with people I ca—people I’m comfortable with.”

“Don’t, please. I… don’t mind.” Aside from Scorpius, there were few people in Draco’s life who had given him that sort of contact, thoughtless in the best possible way. To receive it from Harry was… so much more than he could have dreamed. To see Harry upset and awkward by something that meant so much to Draco was as painful as the gift was precious. Draco reached out and set his hand on Harry's arm, to still and to silence. He watched Harry's face for something, some sign that this would be okay.

He watched Harry's eyes – an even darker green than usual – flick low then quickly back to meet Draco's, and watched a slow flush rise in his cheeks.

Draco began to suspect that it might be possible, that wish he'd had since before he'd even realized it was something that _could_ be wished. His hand tightened on Harry's arm. "It's nice." That wasn’t enough, Draco realized when Harry smiled politely but tried to pull himself back further.

Draco found the courage that Harry said he had and tightened his grip on Harry’s arm. "I like it when you touch me."

Harry’s eyes darkened further, and Draco deliberately dropped his gaze to Harry’s lips and slowly brought them back. He leaned in slightly, and relief fought with joy when Harry did the same. Their lips met, gentle and tentative, and someone moaned. They explored each other for several glorious minutes, releasing each other only when the whispers and giggles from the door became too loud to ignore.

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave a comment here or [on Livejournal.](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/15187.html)


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